


Making Fools of Us All

by JustAPassingGlance



Series: Your Words Into Mine (Prompted Works) [12]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-17 05:57:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3517964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAPassingGlance/pseuds/JustAPassingGlance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the anon who requested ‘Blaine gets hurt and Sebastian panics but it’s not as bad as it originally looked Blaine teases seb for loosing his cool because he loves him.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Fools of Us All

It isn’t really that he is an antisocial person **—** he has old teammates and work colleagues and friends from college that he goes out with every once in a while. It’s just that compared to Blaine Anderson everyone is antisocial. Every other week, or so it seems, Blaine wrangles him into doing something that involves some person Sebastian  has never met but is ‘really great, I swear you’re going to love them.’

If, when he had started dating Blaine, he had known what he was in for, well he would have done it anyways, but maybe he would have ensured that his own apartment was further away so he could sometimes use traffic and congested subway lines as an excuse to occasionally avoid such gatherings.

Tonight, at least, they aren’t going out. Lucy Jensen and her boyfriend had finally been deemed friendly enough to invite over for dinner—an honor that was only granted to a very select few.

Blaine and Lucy had met in an Intro to British Literature class sophomore year and bonded over Blaine’s impressive array of bowties. Even after he had dropped the class with barely concealed mumblings about  incompetent tenured professors, they had kept in touch.

When it comes to entertaining company Sebastian isn’t really the most useful. Should the  mood strike him he has quite the talent for desserts, but juggling his internship, lacrosse, and taking a full course load means that most of the time the last thing he wants to do is spend hours in the kitchen. And general cooking certainly isn’t his forte, although Blaine insists that this is more from a lack of effort than anything else. But Sebastian had actually burned pasta on three separate occasions so the issue was never pressed too far. 

Instead he is relegated to the more mundane tasks of preparing cheese platters and setting the table. Given his somewhat compulsive tendencies for order it’s not something he’s managed to find a way to worm out of. (Bribery, however, has some effect but he knows better than to waste that on something as trivial as this. Setting four places isn’t some great epic struggle. Thanksgiving on the other hand…)

The final spoon has just been expertly laid down when the shattering of breaking glass and a much louder crash have him sprinting from the dining area (really more of an all purpose room that they’ve set up an unsturdy card table for the evening) into the kitchen.

He freezes in the doorway, hands frantically searching in his pockets for his phone as his breathing starts coming out in sharp gasps. The island is blocking his view; all he can see are Blaine’s legs and a whole lot of red.

Phone located, he pulls it out as his legs propel him forward. Blaine lets out a strangled noise that sounds like he’s dying and Sebastian knows he should be dialing 911 but his mind is whiteout blank and his hands are shaking so much he drops his phone and doesn’t even wince as it skitters across the floor.

Another three strides and he’s across the room, commanding Blaine to lay still because the idiot is trying to push himself up even though everyone knows that you don’t move an injured person. He doesn’t recognize his own voice as it comes out in shards that echo the ones littering the floor.

“Don’t move. Just stay there. I-I’ll call for help, just… I dropped my phone. Let me…” He stumbles backwards and lungs for their landline; staring at the unfamiliar buttons and trying to figure out which ones he needs to press.

“Seb?” Blaine questions, standing up slowly and cautiously shaking the glass from his body. His elbow and knee hurt and both are bleeding pretty profusely and  _fuck_  he has no backup plan now that his (admittedly watery) strawberry compote is all over the floor. He sidesteps the entire mess to grab some paper towels before hobbling around to the other side of the island where the light is better and he can actually see as he tries to remove the broken glass from his now stinging cuts.

“Seb?” He prompts again, looking over to where his boyfriend is still standing with the phone uselessly clutched in his hand, face stark white and breathing entirely too rapid. “You okay?”

Sebastian huffs out a laugh because Blaine is the one who was just laying almost-dead on the floor and now he’s just sitting on a stool asking if  _Sebastian is okay._

It takes less than three seconds for him to be at Blaine’s side, swatting his hands away and examining the cuts for himself; shallow for the most part and the glass is in big enough pieces it won’t be too hard to remove. He takes out the biggest pieces first before hyper-focusing on the smaller ones, apologizing every time Blaine winces.

After the fifth time Sebastian forces the little pieces deeper instead of removing them, Blaine places a stilling hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. And it’s no wonder that Sebastian is failing at his task because his body is trembling.

“Stop,” Blaine commands gently. “Get me a rag soaked in hot water. And the first aid kit?” While Sebastian is occupied with the sink, Blaine does his best to clean his knee out entirely and makes good headway on his elbow. Years of fencing and boxing had granted him an uncommonly high pain tolerance, still, he can’t suppress all the hisses of pain, although he tries his hardest to keep them at a minimum because Sebastian practically jumps out of his skin with each one.

“Can I?” Sebastian holds the requested items between them and waits for Blaine to nod in confirmation before he begins wiping away the blood, applying a layer of Neosporin and wrapping it all up in gauze, refusing to look up from his task because he just knows he is being looked at weird..

Sebastian is just playing with the tape, peeling it back and reposition it for something to do, so Blaine feels no qualms about plucking it from his fingers and placing it on the counter. “Look at me.” Not that he gives Sebastian a choice, gripping his chin in his hand and turning it up, forcing eye contact. “I’m okay.”

Nodding tightly, Sebastian pulls himself free and bustles about the kitchen putting everything away and attending to the mess on the floor. “Good.” There’s a snarky quip floating somewhere at the back of his mind, but he can’t quite reach it because all he can see is the red on the floor and he thought it had been Blaine’s blood and he can’t stop his heart from pounding even though it was an irrational thought to begin with and he sees that Blaine is fine. Sees him sitting there, less than five feet from him, grimacing a little as he tests his limbs but otherwise intact and (most importantly) alive.  

He had spent his entire life making sure there was no one close enough to him that he cared if he lost them and now it is all he can think about. All because of a broken bowl of compote that doesn’t even look like blood, certainly not up close and probably not from far away and he had just—

“You’re acting like you were the one who slaved away over dinner.” Blaine’s trying to keep his tone light and trying to figure out what’s going on because somewhere between him slipping and now  _something_  happened and he has no idea what it was.

Sebastian had paused in his cleanup and is just staring at the floor. He swears he can still see Blaine laying sprawled there.

Gingerly, Blaine makes his way around the island and lays a reassuring hand on Sebastian’s back. Sebastian starts.

“I thought… It looked like…  _you_ ,” he manages shakily. “I thought you were-” he tries again but can’t make his mouth for the words.

“You’re an idiot,” Blaine laughs, not unkindly; warm and low and in that private way that’s always only just between them. He forces Sebastian to turn around and snuggles up against him, pressing kisses to his chest until he finally gives in and wraps his arms around Blaine.

They stand like that for several long minutes. Blaine feels Sebastian’s heart rate slow, the tension leave his body.

Finally it’s safe to pull back, so he does. Not far enough to escape the embrace, but enough that he can tilt his head back and smile teasingly up at his boyfriend’s face.

“You were worried about me,” he sings. “You thought I was hurt and you were concerned.” Of the fact that he cares about him he has absolutely no doubt. But Sebastian’s ability to express it was somewhat lacking, speaking more in allusions, riddles, and smoldering touches than anything. And such open displays of emotion were practically unheard of.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sebastian sniffs in return, but the tightening of his grip around Blaine’s waist belies his words.

“You loooove me. And you care about meee. And want to spend the rest of your life with me.” He grins and dances around. “Sebastian Andrew Smythe loves Blaine Devon  Anderson.” For added effect, he traces heart shapes up and down Sebastian’s arms.

“Lies and delusions. You must’ve hit your head when you fell.”

Playfully, Blaine smacks him in chastisement.

“Love you,” Sebastian whispers, pulling him into another hug.

“Mmm,” hums Blaine in happy agreement. “Love you too.” 


End file.
